An A to Z of Sherlock's Darkness
by lifeisclockwork
Summary: An A to Z format often seen anywhere else but in Sherlock's fanverse! Readers suggest a one word prompt for each letter from A to Z and I will pick one and write a one-shot on it. Starring Sherlock, John, Lestrade, Molly, Mycroft, Moriarty, and co. Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, bromance, and general darkness. Mostly hurt!vulnerable!Sherlock & protective OCs. M to be safe!
1. A

**A to Z of Sherlock's Darkness**

**[An A to Z format often seen anywhere else but in Sherlock's fanverse! Readers suggest a topic or word for each letter from B to Z (A already done) and I will pick one and write a one-shot on it. Starring Sherlock, John, Lestrade, Molly, Mycroft, Moriarty, and co. Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, bromance, and general darkness. Vulnerable Sherlock and protective!OCs. M to be safe!]**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own BBC's Sherlock. All kudos goes to Moffat, Gatiss and Thompson. And the biggest, steamiest, pile of kudos goes to the legendary, genius, and generally sexy human being, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. **_

* * *

**-A is for Aching-**

* * *

It started as a dismissible throb in his chest. For all his amazing skills in deduction, Sherlock Holmes didn't think that this small, barely noticeable throb had anything to do with The Woman's death.  
In fact, he thought it was because his suit may have been too tight. But he ignored that thought quickly (this suit was his _favourite_ suit after all). It wasn't until the morning after he had confirmed the body was _indeed_ The Woman's, that the throb had started bothering him.  
He woke sweating and crying (much to his own chagrin) and the throb in his chest was now a dull ache, intermittent shards of pain running down into his left lung and leaving him breathless. He stumbled out of his bed, bleary from the strangely long slumber, and pulled his silken robe on before staggering out into the lounge.  
John was already up and reading the newspaper by the fire when Sherlock stumbled in. The doctor looked up at the scattered detective with a wry smile before putting the newspaper down.  
"Morning, Sherlock," John greeted him, amused. "You look like you're ready to tackle the day!"  
Sherlock scowled at John as he slumped down onto the couch, drawing his knees up under his chin.  
"I am not at my fully functioning capacity, John, and I would _appreciate_ it if you held back any sarcasm until I am more fit to take them."  
The detective shivered and closed his eyes, resting his forehead against his knees. John immediately frowned, going into full doctor mode, as he stood and quickly went over to his friend.  
"Sherlock?" John lay a hand against Sherlock's forehead and checked his neck pulse with the other hand.  
"Do you feel the need to give me a check up _now_? I just woke up, John," Sherlock's voice came muffled and indignant.  
The doctor sighed and leant back on his heels.  
"Well, you don't have a fever and your pulse is normal. So what's wrong?"  
Sherlock raised his head and shrugged. "Oh I don't know. I'm sure I'll be fine once I've had some tea!"  
He stood up suddenly, clapping his hands together, when the ache in his chest sent a wave of hollow pain through his torso. Sherlock sunk to his knees and clenched his teeth, his eyes watering.  
"Sherlock! Sherlock, look at me. Look at me!"  
He felt John's steadying hands hold him and he glanced up at the doctor's concerned face.  
"What's going on, Sherlock? Where does it hurt?"  
The detective swallowed and shook his head, unable to talk. He felt as if we was being held together by a fine thread, and that one single word from his lips would cause a cataclysmic disintegration of both body and mind. He started trembling under John's touch and let himself become enveloped in the doctor's arms.  
It was then when he finally let himself speak, in John's arms, vulnerable and in pain.  
"She…she was _amazing_, John."  
And he let himself fall apart.

Sherlock lost track of time, kneeling there on the cold wooden floorboards in 221B Baker Street, with John holding him tightly as he wept and shook and babbled. Later, he would look back in mortification at his blatant display of _human emotions_. But for some reason or another, he didn't delete the memory. He kept it safe. In the room where he kept all his information about Dr. John Watson.

* * *

**-A is for Amazing –**

**The Woman was Amazing.**

* * *

**a/n**

**So! Hello, hello! I hope you enjoyed this little sample!  
I'm hoping to do an A to Z compilation of one shots (I've seen other ingenious authors adopt this format in Supernatural fanfiction and Doctor Who fanfiction) as I don't think anyone has started one in the Sherlock fanverse!  
So this is how it goes.  
You readers send me a review, telling me what hurt/comfort/angst/etc situation you would like to see Sherlock in for the next letter.  
So now I've done A, the next letter is B. It could be anything such as Bullying, Bulimia, Bat (as in getting hit by a bat lol), Beaten, etc etc etc.  
If you have a particular preference for another character to be included in the scene other than Sherlock, let me know as well. I shall take it into consideration!  
Okay, so review away if you enjoyed this one shot and would like to see more!  
I will try to update this regularly, however I cannot guarantee after next week as I have to fix my laptop. But I will try my best to keep it constant!**

_**So.**_

_**It begins.**_

**-Yuki xox**


	2. B

**A to Z of Sherlock's Darkness**

* * *

**[An A to Z format often seen anywhere else but in Sherlock's fanverse! Readers suggest a topic or word for each letter from B to Z (A already done) and I will pick one and write a one-shot on it. Starring Sherlock, John, Lestrade, Molly, Mycroft, Moriarty, and co. Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, bromance, and general darkness. Vulnerable Sherlock and protective!OCs. M to be safe!]**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own BBC's Sherlock. All kudos goes to Moffat, Gatiss and Thompson. And the biggest, steamiest, pile of kudos goes to the legendary, genius, and generally sexy human being, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.**_

* * *

**-B is for Broken- Suggested by Dawnfire11**

* * *

The case was supposed to be simple. The step father was supposed to be charged for conspiring to kill his wife and daughter over inheritance money. Lestrade was supposed to thank Sherlock and John. Donovan and Anderson were supposed to make snide comments. And Sherlock was supposed to go back home with John, satiated for at least a couple of hours before boredom took hold again. But things never worked out the way they were supposed to. Life never did for the boys at 221B.  
At this precise moment, Sherlock was rattling off figures and facts that Lestrade had _blatantly _missed ("You're always missing the vital information - do you even have _eyes_?") when Donovan rushed into Lestrade's office, slightly out of breathe and sour faced at seeing Sherlock there.  
"Donovan?" Lestrade frowned, immediately sensing trouble.  
"Sir, a phone call, from Francine Pullman."  
"What is it, Sally?" the grey haired man said impatiently.  
Donovan swallowed. "She said that her daughter has been kidnapped. By her husband."  
Lestrade swore and stormed out of the office, Donovan following closely behind. John glanced over at Sherlock who seemed to be smirking.  
"I was right," the detective murmured.  
"Yes, you were Sherlock. But now a teenage girl is missing," John said patiently. He seemed to be constantly reminding his best friend of his humanity during cases.  
Sherlock nodded and hummed under his breath as he gathered his coat and scarf.  
"Come on, John. I need to have a word with a certain Francine Pullman."  
John sighed wearily and followed Sherlock out of Lestrade's office.

* * *

"She's lying," Sherlock said in a hurried voice as they left the Pullman household.  
John raised his eyebrows. "What? You mean to say Francine Pullman was lying about her daughter's kidnapping?"  
They walked briskly down the street and the doctor struggled to keep up with the detective's long strides.  
"That's precisely what I'm talking about John. But why? Why lie about something as important as a kidnapping?"  
"Maybe Francine and her husband planned the kidnapping together? Or maybe there isn't a kidnapping after all?"  
Sherlock clicked his tongue. "Maybe, John, maybe. But there's something else…something important…something right in front of my eyes….eurgh! John, quick, tell me exactly what you know about the case. Tell me _everything_."  
John started but quickly complied. "Well, Lestrade called us in because of an unidentifiable body found in the Thames. The body turned out to belong to a Russian ex-military turned assassin-for-hire, Vyacheslav Alistratov who was paid recently in cash by Manny Pullman for precisely two hits – his wife, Francine and her daughter, Cassie."  
They rounded the corner and hailed down a taxi. As they got in, Sherlock nodded at John to continue. The doctor sighed.  
"The reason to which you cleverly discovered (Sherlock smirked at this) was because of Francine's only other living relative, her great-aunt Marilyn Knight, passed away and left a hefty fortune for Francine and her daughter. If both were to die however, that same fortune would be passed down to Manny Pullman, the remaining family member left alive."  
Sherlock hummed again under his breath and his attention turned to the taxi window. John fell silent, knowing his friend was deep in thought.  
"Francine does not know her husband had called for a hit," the detective suddenly said aloud. "I believe that she and her husband want to do Cassie Pullman harm. I also believe that Francine Pullman is hiding something. And that this something will be the key to unravelling the motives behind the intended harm towards Cassie."  
Sherlock paused and scowled.  
"Family is treacherous and fatal," he growled. He glared at John, as if he was trying to prove a point, but the doctor ignored Sherlock and instead went over the case in his head, suddenly very worried for the youngest Pullman.  
They pulled up outside a dilapidated warehouse and after paying the taxi driver, clambered out into the bitingly cold air. John stretched and looked around, confused.  
"Where exactly are we?"  
Sherlock was typing away frenetically into his phone.  
"This, John, is where Cassie Pullman is being held."  
John gaped at the detective but quickly regained his composure. He should be used to this by now, but every time he was floored by Sherlock's incredible detective skills.  
As they walked hastily towards the warehouse, Sherlock explained how he had deduced where Cassie was being held in his usual quick paced and impatient tone.  
"Pink, powdery stains, obviously left by certain flora on Francine's jeans. I did a quick search on my phone and found out the type of flower – it was Drury by the way – and another search showed that this flower was rare and only grew in certain, specific conditions which led us here – Michael's Metalware, abandoned in "53 after the Second World War – and since I know that Francine has no business in this part of London, I easily deduced that this must be where she was keeping her daughter and I keep telling you John, it is all so _stupidly simple_, if you only _opened your eyes_. You and Lestrade both!"  
John ignored the exasperated tone of his friend's voice. "But why would Francine notify the police of Cassie's kidnapping if she herself is the kidnapper?"  
"Because, John," Sherlock said slowly, irritated, "if Cassie suddenly disappears, the first suspects would be Francine and her husband. However, if they set it up to look like they were as much of a victim as Cassie was and point the blame somewhere else – perhaps a mutual friend or colleague, I'm not too sure on that one – then they would be virtually blame free. The question is why Francine would want to harm her own daughter? You people have your sentiments, do you not? I know the answer is simple. So simple! I just can't…" Sherlock trailed off and he suddenly froze in his tracks.  
John couldn't help but give his friend an amused smile as he recognized the spark in Sherlock's eyes.  
"Well?" he asked the detective expectantly.  
"It _is _simple! It's so obvious. So, _so_ obvious, John!" Sherlock laughed and clapped his hands before almost running towards the warehouse. Knowing that he would get the full answer sooner than later, John made a noncommittal sound from the back of his throat and pulled out his gun as they approached the darkened entrance to the abandoned building. **  
**They entered cautiously, Sherlock sniffing the air and darting about the large space looking for clues. John was in soldier mode, scanning the warehouse and squinting in the gloom. An angry vibration in his pocket startled him.  
"Hurry up and answer that. Tell Lestrade we found Cassie in the old warehouse off Caledon Road," Sherlock called from the darkness.  
"But we haven't found her yet," John called back, pulling his phone out.  
"We will."  
John smiled grimly and answered the phone call.  
"John Watson speaking."  
_John? It's me, Greg. My phone's dead so I'm calling from Sally's phone. Where are you two? We need you at the Pullman household. We need the human lie detector here.  
_John let out a breathy laugh. "Greg, we know where Cassie is. She's at the old Metalware warehouse off Caledon Road."  
A pause then quite swearing. _I won't even ask how you found her._  
"Good, don't. Oh, and you better arrest Francine Pullman since you're there already."  
_What for_?  
"For the kidnapping of her daughter. She-"  
A huge crash made John drop the phone and grip his gun in both hands, his feet already moving towards the sound.  
"Sherlock?" he called out, his voice laced with concern.  
"No," an unfamiliar voice called back.  
A floodlight switched on and John reeled back, blinking heavily. When his eyes adjusted, he saw Sherlock crumpled on the ground and Manny Pullman's right boot clad foot digging into the stunned detective's torso. Cassie was also there, unconscious and bound to a chair, her body limp and face deathly pale.  
John swallowed thickly and raised the gun, cautiously approaching Manny.  
"You're that John Watson fella," Manny grinned, baring yellow smoke stained teeth at John. "And this 'ere," the unkempt man nudged Sherlock with his foot, "is the famous Sherlock 'olmes!"  
"Why are you doing this, Manny?" John asked the older man in a low voice. He glanced down at Sherlock again and his doctor's eye searched his friend's body for any signs of injuries.  
"Wasn't part of my original plan," Manny admitted, scratching his head. "But when Frannie told me bout who Cassie really was, and what she wanted to do to the little bitch, I just 'ad to say yes. Too much fun to pass up!" Manny let out a rough, bark like laugh.  
"What are you talking about? Who is Cassie?" John felt his grip on the gun loosen slightly, curiousity getting the better of him.  
"Francine isn't Cassie's mother," came Sherlock's raspy voice.  
John felt relief flood his body momentarily at the detective's apparent awareness.  
"Francine is Cassie's sister. She had taken guardianship of Cassie when she was a baby, so Cassie didn't know her as anyone else but her mother. And Francine took on the role without knowing it would be too much stress and responsibility for one as young as her – she was only nineteen – and she grew bitter. Isn't that right, Manny?" Sherlock tried to pull himself up into a sitting position but Manny growled and kick him back down into the ground. John took a step forwards and raised his gun.  
"Just let him go, Manny," John said in a low voice.  
The older man laughed and shook his head. It was then when John saw that the man had a gun of his own, hidden behind his leg but angled down at Sherlock's head. John blanched but stood his ground.  
Sherlock continued his ramble, oblivious to the immediate danger to himself.  
"Then ofcourse great aunt Marilyn died and let behind a great sum of money to both sisters – only Francine was just as greedy as you, wasn't she, Manny? She wanted the whole fortune and not having to half it with her sister. So she told you her plan didn't she? Kidnap Cassie, get rid of her, and place the blame on someone else before running off with the whole fortune, free and rich. Only, she didn't know _your_ plan, didn't she, Manny? Your plan to pay an assassin to kill her and Cassie. But you didn't count on the assassin getting himself shot in the head," Sherlock laughed hoarsely at this.  
Manny frowned and kicked Sherlock savagely in the side. "Shut the fuck up," he grunted.  
"Well? Are you going to let him go?" John asked Manny, tiring of the stand off.  
"You 'ave to be kidding me right? You both uncovered the bloody plan – _all of them_! I ain't letting you go. No bleeding way." Manny raised his gun and adjusted it, showing it in plain sight as a warning to John.  
"The whole of Scotland Yard is on their way, Manny. I wouldn't do that."  
Manny grinned manically. "Well, then. I'll 'ave to be quick then, won't I?"  
"Are you really that thick?" Sherlock called from underneath Manny's boot.  
"Sherlock, don't exacerbate things," John said through gritted teeth.  
"You'll go first then, Mister Sherlock 'olmes," Manny smiled and cocked the gun.  
John cocked his gun and stepped forwards, heart thumping.  
"Manny, don't, I _will _ shoot you!"  
"Then go ahead and shoot me. But you know my bullet will 'it your friend before your bullet 'its me."  
John felt sweat bead his forehead and he silently prayed for Lestrade to just _hurry up_.  
Sure enough, not even a second after his silent plea, John heard the telltale sirens of police cars surrounding the warehouse. John raised his eyebrows at Manny who was staring at the entrance with panicked eyes.  
"Fuck fuck fuck!" the older man swore and loosened his grip on his gun.  
John pulled the trigger as Sherlock spun into action and freed himself from Manny's gun and boot.  
Three things happened simultaneously.  
The bullet tore through Manny's shoulder and the older man cried out as the gun flew out of his hand.  
A millisecond before, the gun in Manny's hand exploded and Cassie was thrown to the ground, still tied to the chair, by the force of the bullet – dead before she hit the ground.  
And the police, led by Lestrade stormed into the warehouse, all witness to the accidental killing of Cassie Pullman.  
John stared at the dead girl, his mind frozen in shock. _No_, he mouthed, _God no_.  
Everyone snapped out of their shocked daze. Policemen and women swarmed all over the warehouse, arresting Manny and leading the moaning man away, presumably to the hospital then a dank jail cell. Lestrade was at John's side and barking orders, his face pale and grim.  
John just stood there, staring at the girl's blood pooling steadily across the dusty ground.

* * *

"Freak."  
Sherlock opened his eyes and blearily sat up, a pair of steady warm hands helping him. He had momentarily passed out from the pain in his side when he had twisted away from Manny, but he had definitely heard two gunshots before darkness enveloped him. His panicked gaze rested upon a still-standing John Watson, and his heart calmed down tremendously.  
_Emotions_, he scolded himself.  
"Oi, Freak."  
Sherlock focused his attention on a grim looking Sally Donovan kneeling beside him.  
"Donovan?" he blinked.  
"I said, are you okay?" Donovan asked in an exasperated tone, her nose wrinkled as if asking Sherlock this particular question was painful.**  
**The detective ignored her and struggled to stand. His side erupted in fiery pain and he struggled to breathe, coughing into his trembling hand as (to his horror) Donovan steadied him.  
John seemed to snap out of his daze and, pushing the waves of guilt and self-loathing down, the doctor was immediately at Sherlock's side, in full doctor mode. Lestrade sighed at the two and he went back to barking orders at his officers.  
"I think he may have broken some ribs," Donovan said, a twinkle of worry in her eyes betraying her indifferent expression.  
John nodded curtly and he helped Donovan lower the half conscious detective back down onto the ground. Donovan quickly went to get the paramedics as John took Sherlock's vitals.  
"Are you in a lot of pain, Sherlock?" John asked, his fingers reaching for a pulse. It was fast and faint.  
Sherlock shook his head, his face pale and sweaty. "No. I just can't breathe well."  
The detective coughed into his hand again and John saw flecks of blood.  
"You've broken at least two ribs," John said, "and they have punctured your left lung. Just keep still until Sally comes back with the paramedics, Sherlock."  
Sherlock gasped for breath but nodded faintly. "Family…is…family is fatal…" he said breathlessly.  
John nodded and tried not to glance at the now covered body of Cassie Pullman.  
"It's not…your fault, John…" Sherlock grasped John's hand.  
The doctor lowered his head and swallowed thickly.  
"But if I hadn't shot Manny…he wouldn't have accidentally shot Cassie…"  
Sherlock's grip tightened, making John glance back at the detective's firm gaze.  
"John, if…if you didn't shoot Manny…he would have shot me…you didn't know Cassie would be shot…you did what you had to. Nobody can…blame you for that."  
Sherlock panted in exertion and his eyes rolled up into the back of his head.  
John stared dumbfounded at his best friend, who had passed out in his arms, before coming back to his senses.  
"PARAMEDICS!" he yelled, panicked.  
Donovan came running back, two paramedics in tow, and John stood up, letting them do their work. He frowned at the unconscious detective.  
Sometimes, Sherlock said some things that reminded John of his humanity.

* * *

Sherlock reached up to the cupboards, his body trembling in exertion, before sharp pain ripped through his side and he doubled over the kitchen counter in agony, a soft moan escaping his lips. John looked up from his laptop and he went into the kitchen, concerned.  
"Sherlock? What are you doing?"  
Sherlock waved a hand at the doctor, his other hand held protectively against his bandaged ribs and his breath coming low and fast. John eyed the open cupboard and sighed.  
"If you wanted tea, you could have _asked_ me," he said tiredly. He took Sherlock by the shoulders and led him to the couch where he sunk down, curling up around his injury.  
"Would you like me to make you tea, oh great and invincible Sherlock Holmes?" John asked the pale detective with a small smile.  
Sherlock shot daggers at the doctor before nodding, a blush creeping across his cheeks at his blatant display of weakness. John chuckled and went to make his injured friend a cup of tea.  
The detective was healing nicely over the last few days and Manny and Francine had both been incarcerated for a long, long time. John attended Cassie's funeral (which was attended by himself, Lestrade, a limping Sherlock, and to everybody's surprise, Donovan) and he decided to make peace with himself and with the dead teenager.  
He took Sherlock's advice to heart and he was healing from the event as quickly as Sherlock was.  
The great detective had told John that family was fatal.  
But John thought Sherlock was wrong. He thought of Sherlock as his family and though being with Sherlock may have proved fatalistic in some instances, they always bounced back.  
Because family wasn't about death. It was about healing.

* * *

**-B is for Bonded-  
John was Bonded to Sherlock.**

* * *

**a/n**

**Yay! This chapter is fucking long! Thanks to Dawnfire11 for the prompt "Broken".  
Sorry if there wasn't enough hurt!Sherlock and too much of the case! I think I got too caught up in the case… But I hope everything made sense and that you enjoyed it nonetheless!  
Never fear, next chapters will contain more hurt/comfort with Sherlock.**

**So the next letter is…. C!**  
**Please leave me a review with a one word prompt/idea/object/etc that begins with the letter C! I will not be able to post a new chapter until somebody prompts me, so it's all in your hands my lovely readers!**

**Let me know what you think! Love it? Hate it? Shit on it?**

**-Yuki xox.**


	3. C

**A to Z of Sherlock's Darkness**

* * *

**[An A to Z format often seen anywhere else but in Sherlock's fanverse! Readers suggest a topic or word for each letter from B to Z (A already done) and I will pick one and write a one-shot on it. Starring Sherlock, John, Lestrade, Molly, Mycroft, Moriarty, and co. Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, bromance, and general darkness. Vulnerable Sherlock and protective!OCs. M to be safe!]**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own BBC's Sherlock. All kudos goes to Moffat, Gatiss and Thompson. And the biggest, steamiest, pile of kudos goes to the legendary, genius, and generally sexy human being, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.**_

* * *

**-C is for Candy- Prompt suggested by Katwalsh & Idea by Blue Turtle of AWESOMENESS**

* * *

"I love candy."  
"Why am I here, Jim?"  
"It's sooo bad for you."  
"Will you please untie me?"  
"Oh no Sher Sher. I think you look kind of…_sweet. _All tied up…like a piece of _candy_."  
The brunette madman cackled at his own joke and popped another hard candy into his mouth. Sherlock glared at him and struggled against his bonds.  
"Hm…this isn't fun. I'm leaving now. I'll come back when you're more fun," Moriarty pouted like a child and stood up, pushing the table back as he did so.  
"_Fun_? What's so _fun_ about any of this? If you want fun, untie me _now_. Then I'll show you _fun_," Sherlock hissed the last word, wincing slightly as the large gash on his temple throbbed in pain.  
Moriarty let out a loud whoop, his eyes wide and flashing.  
"Oh, I do love it when you're _sassy _, Sherlock. It just makes me…tingle!" he grinned and stalked up to the detective.  
Without any indication, the madman pulled back his fist and slammed it across Sherlock's battered face. The detective reeled back, feeling as though he had just been hit with a brick, and he heaved in pain, his eyes squeezed shut against the onslaught.  
"Red suits you, sweetie," Moriarty drawled, and he left the dank room, crunching on his candy.  
Sherlock sighed in momentary relief after the madman had left. He would never be bored with Moriarity around, yes, but not being bored usually led to a lot of unnecessary pain. He sat up straight and shook his head, trying to get rid of the ringing in his ears. He quickly took stock of his injuries.  
Newly healed ribs were bruised, but not broken again; various blows to the head meant he was concussed, possibly grade 3 concussion, however he wasn't too sure thanks to his addled brain; nausea, headache, confusion, and dizziness due to concussion; various cuts and bruises, the worst being the huge gash in his left temple; possible broken ankle, though the area affected was numb at this precise moment, which worried him; and just general soreness and stiffness from being tied to a chair for the past thirty odd hours, though Sherlock felt as though he had been in that room for at least a week.  
He let out a deep breath and closed his eyes, hoping the dizziness would go away after a short rest…just a small sleep…nothing more-  
NO!  
Sherlock jerked awake and blinked dumbly. He was _concussed_. He was probably even suffering from second-impact syndrome. Though it was unlikely he would slip into a coma or die while asleep with the original concussion, if he fell asleep with a _second_ concussion acquired so soon after the _first_ one, he could succumb to complications in his sleep. He had to stay awake to monitor his progress. He couldn't afford to slip up – not now.  
He drowsily started reciting the periodic table, lecturing the empty room about the property and uses for each element in a low, slurred voice. Over the next hour, he had to inflict more small cuts to himself to keep himself awake after almost falling asleep from sheer exhaustion. He was at his tether, he knew this, and he wasn't too sure how long he could keep this up. The nausea was strengthening and making him randomly retch and the pain in his skull was increasing with each passing minute, blurring his vision. He found himself almost delirious by the end of the first hour, babbling nonsense to nobody in particular. He kept hearing somebody call out for John in a scared, strangled voice, before suddenly realizing that the shaky voice was coming from _him.  
_By the second hour, Sherlock briefly wondered where John was before his head lolled forwards and sleep finally sucked him in.

* * *

"Fre…"  
He twitched.  
"Freak…"  
A groan escaped his lips.  
"Oi, Freak!"  
A hand shook him gently and he slowly came to consciousness, groggy and disoriented. His vision was blurry and a small throb in his head suddenly became an agonizing knife digging into his brain. Sherlock moaned without realizing it and he clamped his mouth shut, gritting his teeth.  
"Freak, can you hear me?"  
Sherlock blinked heavily, trying to focus on the human blob kneeling in front of him, and slowly, but surely, a hassled looking Sally Donovan came into view.  
"John?" Sherlock chided himself internally and tried again. "Sally?" Better. But he had meant to say _Donovan_.  
Donovan seemed to immediately understand that he was severely concussed and she quickly untied him.  
"Yeah Freak, it's me. Must be really pleased to see me, right?" she let out a bitter laugh as she helped Sherlock down onto the floor.  
Pain flared in his ankle and he squeezed his eyes shut, his spine reflexively stiffening.  
"Is it your ankle?" Donovan shifted Sherlock to a more comfortable position and she studied his swollen ankle. "Yeah, it's broken," she confirmed.  
"John?" Sherlock gasped.  
"He's with Lestrade," Donovan said, her brow creased with worry.  
"What happened?" Sherlock grasped the woman's arm in a vice-like grip, his heart suddenly thumping in panic.  
Donovan stared at the usually emotionless detective's blatant display of concern for his friend. Definitely not a sociopath then, she thought to herself in shock. She shook her head and glanced at the door she had kicked open, after 'deducing' (as Sherlock would say) that the great detective was kept in this room.  
"The last I saw them, they were fighting Moriarity's men. John yelled at me to go find you so I slipped away. There were only three of them, so John and Lestrade will be able to handle them," Sally added the last sentence after seeing Sherlock blanch, trying to comfort him as well as herself.  
She briefly wondered why she was being so civil to the man who had constantly berated her for being "stupid, so _stupid_", when Sherlock suddenly keeled to the side. She quickly grasped his shoulders and wrapped an arm around them to support him.  
"I've called for backup," Donovan told him, "so they should be here soon." _If John and Lestrade don't manage to beat Moriarity's men_,she added silently.  
"How…" Sherlock winced and held a trembling hand to his head. "How did you find me?" he asked, through gritted teeth.  
"Lestrade, John, and I were scouting this house after we deciphered the clue Moriarity left for us. We've basically been on a scavenger hunt for the past forty hours, trying to look for you," Donovan smiled grimly. "I guess we won the game."  
"The game isn't over yet," Sherlock said faintly.  
He was struggling to stay conscious and he was trying to focus on Donovan's voice, but it was a losing battle. Sweat beaded the detective's forehead with the sheer effort of being awake and pain wracked his thin body the longer he was conscious. Exhausted, Sherlock's eyes slid shut and his body went limp.  
Donovan started, alarmed, and she gently patted Sherlock's cheek, trying to wake him without doing him further injury.  
"Freak! Freak, you have you have to stay awake! Freak!"  
She quickly felt for his pulse. It was faint but steady.  
"Freak…Sherlock! Open your eyes, Sherlock!"  
Glassy grey eyes met hers and she sighed in relief.  
"Thank God. Sherlock, you have to stay awake, do you understand me? Otherwise you'll fall into a coma."  
"Incorrect," the detective whispered through cracked lips.  
Donovan blinked at him, surprised. "What?"  
"Common misconception. Sleep will not kill me, in fact it is encouraged when one is concussed. Second impact syndrome is more likely to cause me to slip into a coma or my death."  
Donovan let out a breathy laugh. "You're coherent. That's good."  
"My coherency comes and goes," Sherlock grimaced.  
They sat in silence for several minutes, waiting for John and Lestrade (or backup) to come and find them. Donovan eyed Sherlock's ankle which was swelling rapidly. She should be splinting it, keeping it in place, however she didn't want to exacerbate things (she was in the police force, not medicine). Her main job though, was to keep the great detective from falling asleep, which was proving more and more difficult as his concussion worsened. She was afraid that he was right, that he _did _have second-impact syndrome, but she didn't say anything out loud. She only dutifully kept him awake and tried to keep him entertained.  
"Sherlock!"  
Her heart leaped into her mouth as a bruised but otherwise healthy John Watson appeared in the doorway, followed by a breathless Lestrade.  
"John?" Sherlock stiffened in her arms. She sat back on her heels as John rushed to his friend's side, quickly checking his injuries over.  
"He's severely concussed, possibly suffering from second-impact syndrome. He has a deep gash in his left temple, a possible broken ankle, and I think bruised ribs from the way he favours his right side," Donovan said to John in a low voice.  
The doctor nodded at her gratefully, though not without surprise at her apparent concern, and went back to checking the detective's vitals.  
Lestrade helped Donovan to her feet. "Well done, Sally," he said with a small smile.  
Donovan rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "I just did what I had to do. Doesn't mean I care about what happens to the freak," she drawled, slipping back into character.  
Though her eyes, as always, gave her away.

* * *

**-C is for Caring-  
Sally cares about Sherlock.**

* * *

**a/n**

**Hello, hello! Hoped you enjoyed this chapter! All the prompts were so good, I decided to combine several of them together!**  
**The prompt by Katwalsh is 'Candy' and the prompts by Blue Turtle of AWESOMENESS is 'Concussed' and 'Confused'! The idea of a caring!Donovan is also by Blue Turtle!**  
**I hope you also liked my portrayal of Sally and Moriarity in this one-shot. It's hard to get the nuances of certain characters right!**

**Well, now it's time for the letter D.**  
**Let me know a one-word prompt/idea etc in a review and let me know what you want!**  
**Preferred OCs are also taken into consideration, so don't hold back!**

**An important notice:**

**I am on holidays at the moment at my parent's place (which has internet) but I am returning home tomorrow (which does NOT have internet). So I will not have internet/laptop until I get my laptop fixed which will take about two weeks! Never fear however, I will continue to write, so leave a review and I will use the next two weeks to write an extra long and extra awesome one-shot for you all!**

**Self Promotion ahoy: In the meantime, if you have nothing better to do, check out my other fic that I am currently working on called O, Saviour. It's about a dark, angsty Harry who becomes addicted to drugs and is haunted by the ghosts of his past.**

**Sorry about the long a/n (I always seem to have a lot of shit to say).**

**Hope the next two weeks are fun filled and awesome for you, my sexy readers! And I will see you then. NEVER FEAR, I WILL NEVER ABANDON YE!**

**I'm not hungry. Let's have dinner.**

**-Yuki xox  
**


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